


icarus gets the last laugh this time

by celestialmechanics



Series: evidence in support of the theory of heliocentricity [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Hinata-centric, M/M, because brazil oihina is canon sorry!, hinata deserves the world don't talk to me, hinata shouyou character study, its MY mental illness and I get to choose the comfort character!!!, ooc ushiwaka because he uses his brain to think about...mythology?, past oihina, someone come get ushiwaka from aisle 4 please, the relationships are side stuff, this is all about hinata, this mf wont shut up about some guy named icarus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26437543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialmechanics/pseuds/celestialmechanics
Summary: Ushijima knows that (1) obviously, manufactured wings like the ones described in the story would never work and (2) in the troposphere, altitude and temperature are inversely related, meaning that the higher one goes, the colder it gets because of the density of air particles decreases as altitude increases, so, really Icarus would have died from the lack of oxygen before he was able to get close enough for the Sun to melt away his wings. Eita says that Ushijima is dumber than a pile of rocks because clearly that isn’t the point of the story.What Ushijima doesn’t know is what role Hinata Shouyou fills: is he Icarus, or is he the Sun?He supposes it doesn’t matter— even the Sun must obey the laws of gravity.or: Hinata Shouyou doesn't know how to doubt himself. He believes he can fly, and so he does.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio, Hinata Shouyou & Oikawa Tooru, Hinata Shouyou & Ushijima Wakatoshi, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu, Hinata Shouyou/Oikawa Tooru
Series: evidence in support of the theory of heliocentricity [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1924261
Comments: 38
Kudos: 281





	icarus gets the last laugh this time

**Author's Note:**

> me: *hasn't written anything since 2015*  
> also me: character study???? hinata character study????
> 
> in which the fact that hinata has spent his entire career begging anyone he can get his hands on to toss for him made me :’)

ii.

Hinata Shouyou is seven years old when he makes his peace with never being the first choice. 

It’s not like he gets picked last— no, he’s never the last man standing, never told he couldn’t play this time around. He’s a fast runner, and when you’re seven years old, that’s all anyone cares about when forming a kickball team during recess. But he’s not the fastest nor the tallest, and sometimes when it’s his turn to kick, he gets so excited that he takes a running start at the ball and whiffs it completely. He’s a little too loud, a little aggressive, a little too much. So no, he’s never anyone’s first choice. 

He doesn’t ask any of his friends why no one ever picks him first; not because he already knows the answer, but because he’s afraid he wouldn’t like the answer if he was ever brave enough to ask. Maybe the team captains don’t like his high-pitched voice, his booming laugh, his tangerine hair. _No,_ the voice in the back of his head assures him, _it’s not because of your voice or your hair._ _It’s because the other kids are better than you._

Shouyou is not the worst kickball player on the playground, sure, but he’s also not the best. He’s ordinary, and ordinary people just don’t get picked first. 

Hinata Shouyou is seven years old, and he doesn’t understand why this revelation makes him feel hollowed out.

* * *

iii.

Hinata Shouyou is 11 when he discovers that gravity is nothing more than a long-running joke that mortals decided they wanted to take seriously.

The sun’s glare against the storefront window should make it harder for Shouyou to see the television screen from this far away, but maybe the constraints of reality don’t apply in this situation because Shouyou sees the boy on the screen fly with such clarity that the miles and miles between himself and the boy shrink until they’ve disappeared entirely and he’s right next to him, underneath him, watching as he cuts through the air, gravity be damned. The men standing in front of the storefront call him the Little Giant from Karasuno High School.

Izumi catches up to him, beckons him to come along, god forbid they’re late for school, and Shouyou bikes the rest of the way to school with dreams about fingers scraping the sky.

* * *

iv.

Hinata Shouyou is 13 years old when he resigns himself to desperation. 

Sure, he’d already made his peace with never being the first choice, but he didn’t know he’d have to beg people to believe in him. He hadn’t yet experienced how it felt to plead with someone, anyone, to ask and ask that they throw the ball into the air and let him fly. He gets told ‘no’ a lot, but he brandishes puppy dog eyes like a secret power, and grovels like the word ‘shame’ has no place in his vocabulary. He wields his unyielding enthusiasm like a sword, learns that bright eyes and flattery can break someone’s resistance far more efficiently than demands ever could. Anyone willing and able to toss for Shouyou is good enough for him. Skill and precision mean nothing to someone who laughs in the face of gravity: as long as the ball is in the air, he will jump. 

Shouyou’s mother finally breaks one winter afternoon: with many of his friends on vacation, and the rest unwilling to spend hours out in the cold, Shouyou has spent days cooped up inside with no one to toss for him. When she finally tires of watching as he tries, again and again, to make a volleyball bounce off the side of the house high enough for him to hit it, she sighs, resigning herself to the task. Shouyou’s face breaks into a grin when she steps outside and asks if he’d like her to try and toss for him. “I have no idea how to do this,” she says, tugging a hat onto her head to keep the tips of her ears from safe from the blistering cold, “but I’ll do my best, okay?”

She takes the ball from him and lobs it gently through the air above them. Shouyou bends his knees and leaps. She cranes her neck to catch a glimpse of his wild eyes and brilliant smile, seemingly miles and miles above her. 

Hinata Shouyou’s mother won’t tell you how old she is, but that afternoon, she learned that her son grew wings without telling her and that he could touch the clouds if he wanted to. Maybe he could even touch the sun. 

* * *

v.

Hinata Shouyou is 14 when he experiences his first heartbreak. 

It’s not exactly that he’s naive— he’s well aware that his opponents have more experience and greater physical advantages, and he knows that victory is never guaranteed; it’s just that Hinata Shouyou doesn’t know how to doubt himself. Yes, there’s always a chance that his team will lose: he just didn’t believe that possibility would ever come to fruition. It’s not overconfidence or arrogance, either: he just believes that he can do it. 

They lose in two sets, and it sucks— but the heartbreak isn’t the defeat. No, the heartbreak is the fingers that grip the net and ask Shouyou: “what have you been doing for these past three years?” Shouyou can’t tell if the words are meant to be cruel, but they echo in that hollowness that opened up at age seven, the words bounce around in his heart and his gut, and the reverb makes his stomach turn, and it sure feels like cruelty. 

The thing about volleyball, about sports in general, is that some people get to walk onto the court or the field and just _get it._ Ten-year-olds in gym class with legs that seem endless get pulled aside by the coach, _have you thought about joining the basketball club?_ ; girls with lanky arms and muscular thighs have a softball and a glove shoved into their arms because they’re built for fastpitch; in the States, teenage boys with bodies like tanks are put on the offensive line after one practice because they’re _built for it._ With the right body— with a body made to excel— you can learn to be great. 

Hinata Shouyou knows more than anyone else that he isn’t built for volleyball. Coaches and friends’ parents from gymnastics and ballet had tried and failed to convince Shouyou that he would be excellent at their sport if he gave it a try; one of his friends is an ice skater and practically begged Shouyou to try it because he’s _built for it._ Shouyou knows that to some extent, they’re right. Some people are simply blessed with physique and natural talent, and if they have the passion and the game sense, they can become a giant. Kageyama Tobio is one of those people, and Shouyou nearly hates him for it. 

Izumi had once asked him why it had to be volleyball, why he had to pick something that could only be an uphill battle. Shouyou doesn’t quite understand: what else could he possibly love more than volleyball?

Outside, he stands on the stairs and tells Kageyama that he will defeat him one day. It sounds like a petty threat made by a petulant child seeking revenge to anyone who walks past them. But Kageyama and Shouyou know it's a promise, nothing more, nothing less. Shouyou almost resents Kageyama for being so naturally talented: but he can’t bring himself to resent someone who loves volleyball as much as he does. Whatever minuscule amount of respect and admiration existing between the two is the product of a shared love: _oh,_ it seems to say, _you get it._

And so Shouyou swears to Kageyama, to himself, to anyone willing to hear him: “I’ll defeat you, someday,” and they both know that he means it. Kageyama tells him to get to work.

Hinata Shouyou is 14 years old, and the heartbreak isn’t that he lost his first and last junior high volleyball tournament, but that he’s fallen in love with something that will never give itself to him without a fight. And thank God for silver linings, because the only thing Shouyou loves more than volleyball is a challenge. 

* * *

The thing about Hinata Shouyou is that he doesn’t know how to doubt himself: this is still the case. Shouyou believes that he can fly, and so he does. That’s all there is to it. And if the world around him demands he flies higher, then what can he do but find a way to soar?

* * *

vi.

Hinata Shouyou is 15 and boy, is he _pissed._

Had Shouyou paid a bit more attention in his junior high literature class, perhaps he’d appreciate the situation’s irony a bit more. But Shouyou doesn’t know jackshit about irony, so he’s just pissed. 

Kageyama Tobio wasn’t meant to be here at Karasuno, and yet, here he is, on the same side of the court as Shouyou. The pompous air that constantly surrounded him in junior high has dissipated (slightly), but the disdainful look remains. Yes, Kageyama’s presence has thrown a wrench into Shouyou’s plans, his optimistic nature prevails because the only thing Shouyou loves more than volleyball is a challenge. Shouyou demands to play volleyball, and if he must, he can learn to stand on the court with Kageyama.

Kageyama, perpetual bastard that he is, seems to have different ideas. 

Kageyama’s refusal to send him a toss stings deeper than defeat ever could because the thing about Shouyou is that he wins people over, and he wins them over quickly. One defiant leap towards the heavens, and he’s turned the tides, he’s earned the crowd’s favor. Shouyou is so familiar with begging for a toss that there’s little room left for shame— he’s accustomed to being underestimated, knows the feeling of being disregarded like the back of his hand. He can cope with it because he knows that in the end, he gets the last laugh. Whether it’s someone who hates him or someone who loves him, he knows that he’s won when they see him fly. 

But Kageyama has seen Shouyou jump, has seen him sprint from one end of the court to the other, has seen the grit and the determination, and knows, he _knows,_ that Shouyou could do it. Kageyama has seen Shouyou fly already— he’s tilted his head back, eyes wide with shock, and watched as Shouyou’s fingers blotted out the arena lights above him. And yet—

“I only toss to the people I believe are necessary for winning. I don’t believe you are necessary.”

* * *

Okay, here’s the thing: 

There’s something incredible about proving someone wrong and ruining someone’s expectations. Being underestimated is exhilarating, and it’s something Shouyou knows the Kageyamas of the world will never experience. No one ever looked at Hinata Shouyou for the first time and registered him as a threat and for a long time, he hated that. He hated telling people that _yes,_ he played volleyball, and _no,_ he was a spiker, not a libero, only for them to laugh or grace him with a pitiful smile. 

When he was seven and no one ever thought to choose him first for kickball, he thought he’d made peace with never being first, even if that truth hollowed his insides. He’d have to learn to be okay to be second, third, fourth, last— because he could still prove he was the best. It didn’t matter what order they were picked in because he could make anyone grateful that he was on their team, no matter if they picked him last, no matter if they thought he was average upon first glance. He believed that the hollowness was born from the fact that Shouyou would simply have to learn how to be okay with second best. But it’s now that he realizes he can never be resigned to that. 

“I only toss to the people I believe are necessary for winning. I don’t believe you are necessary.”

Hinata Shouyou is 15, and he learns that the hollowness was hunger all along. 

* * *

When Kageyama finally sends him a toss, when his palm makes contact with the ball, when the blockers jump an instant too late and the ball smacks the opposite court with a satisfying and resounding thud, the hunger doesn’t leave him— if anything, it grows.

* * *

viii.

Hinata Shouyou is still 15, and he decides that defeat tastes like accidentally swallowed saltwater, that sudden head-underwater-gasp-lungs-burning-throat-searing type of sensation.

When Shouyou lost at his volleyball tournament in junior high, it sucked (obviously, because losing always sucks, even when it's just racing Kageyama to the club room after practice): but he knew then that he was on the ground level and the ceiling was nowhere in sight. He felt that he hadn’t yet tapped into his full potential as an athlete. The sky was the limit. 

Losing to Seijoh in high school was different because this time, it felt like he’d broken through every ceiling and was now touching the top ceiling, that he was miles above where he was last defeated. And yet, his opponents had been better than him. He’d jumped and jumped until Isaac Newton rolled over in his grave and gravity chuckled and said _all right, that’s enough,_ and dragged him back to the earth like a child’s nearly-escaped balloon in a supermarket parking lot. He’d jumped and jumped, and he’d been blocked, stopped, trampled, and beaten.

No one blames him, of course. Not even Kageyama, which pisses Shouyou off even more— the realization that no one blames Shouyou because to everyone else, Shouyou is simply something for Kageyama to brandish on the court, a weapon to use at his discretion and his discretion only. They might be called a duo, but the reality is that Kageyama is driving and Shouyou’s just along for the ride. 

They fight. Kageyama wants to conduct the orchestra, but Shouyou doesn’t get an instrument until Kageyama deems him worthy and _god_ how many times must he prove himself? 

Shouyou understands, then, that the reason he can touch the ceiling is because he’s been counting on Kageyama to break through every other level that brings them closer to the top. Kageyama is the only one with a sledgehammer, the only one devastating the beams and bolts and drywall of the floor above them— Kageyama breaks through, climbs up, and then decides if Shouyou is worth dragging along. And while he always decides that yes, it’s worth it to lower his hand through the hole in the ceiling, grasp Shouyou’s hand and haul him upwards— he never considers that Shouyou can wield a hammer and make a hole in the ceiling, too. 

Kageyama had once told him that as long as Kageyama was there, Shouyou would be invincible. It’s only now that he realizes how similar that word sounds to “invisible.”

* * *

vii.

Hinata Shouyou is 15 and just won a match at his first Interhigh tournament, and there are plenty of people whispering about him. He hears a lot of it, and a lot of it is praise. But it’s not all praise for him: rounding the corner as he walks through the hallway, Shouyou overhears a player from another school give his analysis on the situation: “God, that kid can jump! But you have to wonder if he’d be on the court at all if that Kageyama kid weren’t there. All the athleticism in the world can’t make up for incompetence.” His teammates nod in agreement, and that’s all that happened. 

Earlier, it was mentioned that Hinata Shouyou doesn’t know how to doubt himself. This remains true. If the world demands that he flies higher, then he’ll find a way to fly higher. 

* * *

ix.

Hinata Shouyou is 16 years old, and he thinks he gets it. 

Kageyama hasn’t said sorry, and neither has Shouyou. Neither plans to do so, and this is fine with both of them. Kageyama’s tosses aren’t laced with unspoken regrets, and Shouyou’s spikes aren’t tinged with silent apologies. They don’t need that from each other: volleyball might be a love language for some people, but not for them. For them, volleyball has no ulterior motives, no hidden meanings. For them, the only way out is through, and the only way through is up. So Shouyou jumps higher, faster, stronger, believing that the ball will find him. He still has to plead that Kageyama gives him the ball— that’s one thing that probably won’t ever change. But every time he jumps, he has to believe that the ball will come to him. Even if he’s not Kageyama’s first choice, the ball might still come to him.

He can’t miss it if it does.

* * *

x.

Hinata Shouyou is 16, and he knows that victory is an insatiable itch, a beacon that beckons him like a moth to a flame, that he’d do anything and everything to win.

Earlier in the match, he’d turned to Kageyama and repeated the same words Kageyama had said to him months ago: “As long as I’m here, you’re invincible.” What the others heard as confidence, as an inside joke of sorts, was nothing more than a plea: _please, please, please send me the ball. Send me the ball, and I swear I’ll make it count. You can be the genius; I don’t mind being a weapon. Just let me hit the ball._

Oikawa Tooru meets Shouyou’s eyes from across the court, spirit unbroken in the wake of his defeat, and Shouyou realizes how similar the two of them are. Hinata Shouyou and Oikawa Tooru are not geniuses, and every victory tastes like nectar from the gods because it took every last ounce of mind/body/soul to pull it off. To people like Oikawa and Shouyou, every moment on the court reeks of urgency and desperation, as if the other shoe will drop any moment now. They chase victory like there’s nothing else in this life: they chase it and they chase it and they chase it, thinking that they’re running towards something when really they’re running away.

(Years later, in a damp, dark room in Rio, Shouyou will whisper this to Oikawa, who will understand immediately. “Tobio-chan’s shadow isn’t very easy to outrun, huh? Even all the way across the world, he seems to take up all the air in this room.”

Shouyou sighs. “Even all the way across the world.”

“Are you still running away?”

“No,” he lies.)

* * *

xi.

Ushijima Wakatoshi is 18 years old when Hinata Shouyou leaps over his head, snags his volleyball out of the air, and proclaims that he’s come from the concrete to beat Ushijima and Shiratorizawa and win Nationals. Ushijima believes this is preposterous (potentially slanderous?) and tells him as much. 

And yet: Hinata Shouyou leaps into the air over and over and over again as if invisible strings are connecting him to the ceiling like he’s belting “Defying Gravity” in a stage production of _Wicked_ (at least that’s how Tendo described it). Ushijima towers over Hinata by almost 30 centimeters, but in the moments before the ball hits the court in his final high school match, he tips his head back to look up as Hinata’s shadow swallows him. _This is new,_ he thinks.

The receive is botched, and the ball flies out of the court. The whistle blows to announce the end of the match, and Ushijima is the loser for the first time in a long time. 

Hinata Shouyou walks away from the net to join his team, giving Kageyama a fistbump and a smile, the number on his jersey shrinking as he increases the distance between himself and Ushijima, and Ushijima remembers a story he’d heard when he was young. In the story, a boy named Icarus and his father live as prisoners on an island in Ancient Greece. Longing to escape, the boy’s father fashions mechanical wings made of feathers and candle wax so that the two of them can fly away. As they depart, Icarus’s father warns him not to fly too close to the Sun or the sea because the wings would become ruined, and Icarus would fall to his death. But in the thrill of flight, Icarus soars higher and higher, eventually too close to the Sun, because the wax melts and the feathers fall away and _surely_ you can infer the rest. 

Ushijima knows that (1) obviously, manufactured wings like the ones described in the story would never work and (2) in the troposphere, altitude and temperature are inversely related, meaning that the higher one goes, the colder it gets because of the density of air particles decreases as altitude increases, so, really Icarus would have died from the lack of oxygen before he was able to get close enough for the Sun to melt away his wings. Eita says that Ushijima is dumber than a pile of rocks because that _clearly_ isn’t the point of the story. 

What Ushijima _doesn’t_ know is what role Hinata Shouyou fills: is he Icarus, or is he the Sun?

He supposes it doesn’t matter— even the Sun must obey the laws of gravity.

* * *

xii. 

Hinata Shouyou is nationals-bound at 16 years old, and it’s still not enough.

Kageyama is invited to the Youth Training Camp, and he leaves Shouyou behind. Tsukishima is invited to the Miyagi Training Camp, and Shouyou really can’t let that one slide, so he decides to go, consequences be damned. 

He stands face-to-face with the coach of a team he helped defeat and is told he has very little worth without Kageyama and Shouyou wants to laugh because why else would he be here?

* * *

i.

Hinata Shouyou is five years old, and he can’t find his class. 

His teacher has brought the students from Hinata’s class to the aquarium in Sendai for the day, and Shouyou has had a lot of fun. When the day is almost over and Shouyou begins the walk back to the atrium with his friends and the chaperone, he’s distracted by the spotted seal and knows he can’t leave without saying goodbye. 

It's only for a moment, but when he bids the seal adieu and turns back around to face his group, they aren’t there. He walks around the bottom level once, twice, three times, and cannot find a single face he recognizes. His breath quickens, and he pleads with himself not to panic, but he’s worried he’ll have to sleep in this cavernous place because no one is coming to look for him. He goes to the atrium and plops down on a bench and waits— eventually, someone would have to come looking for him. 

Half an hour passes, and no one stops to ask Shouyou where his mom is or if he’s here with a grownup or if he’s ok: and the feeling of being forgotten, of being so ordinary and invisible, hurts his chest. His heart squeezes in an ugly, desperate sort of way, and the pressure constricts his lungs, and a sob is just about to pry its way up into his throat when the lady from the desk in the lobby comes to ask him where his mommy is. 

An hour later, the teacher and Shouyou’s mother step into the atrium, and Shouyou can breathe again. His teacher frantically apologizes to everyone involved before turning to Shouyou, saying, “We didn’t even notice you weren’t on the bus until we got back to the school!”

Years later, Shouyou will know that the teacher didn’t mean anything cruel or mean-spirited when he said that. But that feeling from before, the feeling of being so unimportant that your absence goes completely unnoticed, returns to Shouyou full force and threatens to swallow him whole, and he swears to himself that he can become unforgettable. 

People think that Hinata Shouyou came into this world as a spotlight-stealer, that he exploded into this life loudly, proudly, unapologetically. But the truth is that Hinata Shouyou is, above all else, an adaptable creature. He grows up competitive because when you’re small, you have to be. He grows up loud because he can’t be sure he’s still here if he goes too long without hearing his own voice. He jumps because grownups overlooked his presence completely sometimes, and if seeing is believing, he can’t afford to be out of anyone’s sightlines. 

Hinata Shouyou is five years old, and he can’t afford to disappear.

* * *

Hinata Shouyou doesn’t know how to doubt himself. _You can fly even higher,_ Kageyama had said, and it almost sounded like encouragement. 

* * *

xiii. 

Hinata Shouyou is 16, and he learns that he can fly without Kageyama. 

That doesn’t mean he _wants_ to fly without Kageyama; Kageyama is a phenomenal setter, and Shouyou loves hitting his tosses more than he loves breathing. But he doesn’t require Kageyama, nor does Kageyama require him. 

(He doesn’t know how to feel about this fact, because Kageyama not requiring him is awfully close to Kageyama forgetting about him, isn’t it?)

Well, that’s kind of a lie: as long as Kageyama is the setter for Karasuno, Shouyou does require Kageyama. 

It’s kind of funny how Shouyou still has to beg for the ball. He swears he could wake up one morning and be two meters tall, and Kageyama would still make him plead for one more, just one more, always just one more. 

It’s not fair. 

It’s not fair, but Hinata Shouyou is going to Nationals, and he plans on winning, so he’ll just have to make it work. 

* * *

xiv. 

Hinata Shouyou is 16 years old, and maybe _now_ he thinks he gets it. 

Yeah, ok, he said he got it before, but that was when he didn’t know volleyball was his love language (which, in hindsight, is ridiculous— what else would it possibly be?), that was when each set from Kageyama was a miracle that Shouyou believed himself unworthy of hitting. He thought he understood that the best he could offer was his everything and that Kageyama would meet him halfway if he chose to do so— if not, then Shouyou would just have to jump a little higher. 

He thought he actually got it that time because he had finally accepted that the thing that made him a formidable opponent was the quick, and the quick belonged to Kageyama. Yes, he could perform without Kageyama, but the thing that made him extraordinary was Kageyama’s and Kageyama’s alone. He hit his very first quick in the 3-on-3 with his eyes shut, for God’s sake: if that didn’t prove that Kageyama was the driving force for Hinata’s skills, the foundation for Shouyou’s greatest asset, nothing would. 

Here’s what’s changed since then, here’s why Shouyou thinks he gets it now: on the opposite side of the net, Miya Osamu’s feet return to the Earth as the ball rockets past Shouyou and meets the court full-force. _Oh,_ Shouyou thinks, a smile tugging at his lips without his permission, _so this is how it feels to be made a fool._

* * *

xv.

Miya Atsumu is 17 years old, and he thinks he might believe in a god, after all. 

He feels the breath knocked clear out of his lungs as he watches Hinata Shouyou leap into the air and send the ball back to their side of the court. “I want to try that,” he says to his team during a timeout. Kita purses his lips, and Osamu rolls his eyes, but they pull it off. Obviously. 

He turns to meet the eyes of Karasuno’s #10, prepared to gloat but stops short at the look in Shouyou’s eyes. Instead of frustration or anger, there is admiration. A quick flash of teeth is all he gets before Shouyou returns to the game, preparing to counterattack. 

Osamu stands next to Atsumu, hand still raised expectantly. “Dude, don’t leave me hanging!” Atsumu smacks his hand without taking his eyes off of Shouyou. 

Miya Atsumu is 17 years old, and he thinks he might die if he never tosses for Hinata Shouyou. 

* * *

“Shouyou-kun, one of these days, I’m gonna toss to ya.”

* * *

xvi. 

Oikawa Tooru is 21 years old, and on the sandy beaches of Rio, Hinata Shouyou has awakened something that sat dormant inside him.

What happens in Rio stays in Rio, but there’s a few key things you should probably know:

Not even sand and wind can stop Shouyou from jumping into the sky and brushing his fingertips across the cheekbones of whichever god or goddess hangs out in the clouds. Oikawa might have missed him entirely had he not seen that familiar yet foreign form slice through the air. He jumps higher than he did before, and Oikawa can’t exactly walk away now. 

They catch up over dinner, and then they leave dinner, and later that night, they talk about the elephant in the room because even when Kageyama isn’t there, he’s there. 

“Are you still running away?” Oikawa asks. 

“No,” Shouyou lies through his teeth. “I’m my own person now. My own player. With or without him.”

Oikawa only chuckles, which pisses Shouyou off, so he huffs and punches him in the shoulder. “Ow! Obviously I know you’re strong on your own. You made my tosses look incredible today. I’d love to toss to you again.” He laughs again. “When we were in high school, I remember telling Iwa-chan that you were someone that a setter simply couldn’t deny tossing the ball to. I think even Tobio-chan could see that you were a force.”

And something in Shouyou’s chest finally loosens and releases, because here’s what he finally understands: Kageyama is one of the most gifted setters in the entire world, and that doesn’t mean that Shouyou isn’t a phenomenal volleyball player. For the longest time, those two things couldn’t both be right. Shouyou’s strength hinged upon Kageyama’s prowess; Shouyou’s power belonged to Kageyama. But he gets it now. Yes, he had to beg Kageyama to give him the ball, and yes, he had to prove over and over and over again that he was worth something on his own. But he’s starting to believe that maybe he’s proven it. 

Next to him, Oikawa sighs and closes his eyes. “You should have gone to Seijoh.”

“You sound like Ushiwaka-san, Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa Tooru is 21 years old, and he and Hinata Shouyou and cracking up like little kids at a sleepover, and he thinks he can love volleyball again. 

* * *

Hinata Shouyou is 20 years old, and now he absolutely, 100%, no-doubt-about-it, _gets_ it. 

To be perfectly honest, he understood it back when he was 16 years old, and Atsumu blew him away with a replication of Karasuno’s quick attack, proving once and for all that there are setters other than Kageyama Tobio. But now he’s dismantled himself mind, body, and soul, retrained his feet to launch him into the heavens from the sand instead of linoleum, traded his native tongue for broken Portuguese, and he gets it. 

On the beaches of Rio, Oikawa Tooru sets the ball to him, and his palm stings like it’s the first time he’s ever spiked a ball. Palms red from the ball, and from the endless high fives he trades with allies and opponents alike, he turns to Oikawa with a brilliant smile. “One more?”

Oikawa can only smile and oblige him. 

* * *

xvii. 

Hinata Shouyou is 21 years old, and he still has to prove himself.

He’s (mostly) ok with it this time because he knows that he’s been in a different country, and there’s no reason for a V-League team to add him to their roster without some type of tryout. He waits for the inevitable name drop that always comes when he talks about his history with volleyball, the shock and awe, the _you spiked for THE Kageyama Tobio?_ But before it can come to fruition, there’s an arm slung around his neck with a “hey hey HEY!” and a nod of acknowledgment from a socially-distanced Sakusa. And of course, like a miracle:

“Shouyou-kun, can I toss for ya?”

* * *

xviii.

Hinata Shouyou is 22 years old, and he might believe in love. 

“You know,” he says to Atsumu, “I think you’re the first person who ever asked me to spike for them first. It’s usually the other way around. Actually, it’s more like I would have to beg for someone to toss the ball for me. I don’t think anyone ever offered.” 

Atsumu looks at Shouyou from where he lies on the floor. They once again stayed late and practiced extra, whipping the quick attack into shape before their scheduled match against the Adlers two weeks from now. He smiles, and it’s a small smile, which lets Shouyou know that he’s serious. “That doesn’t surprise me. Most people are far too stupid to recognize a miracle when they see one. I mean, really, what kind of a sane person wouldn’t want to toss to ya?” He pauses to take a swig of water. “And yes, that includes Tobio-kun. He was already an insane person in my book, but him never offering to toss to ya first? Seals the deal.”

Shouyou wants to say something, anything, but all he can do is stare at Atsumu with starry eyes and wonder _where did you even come from?_ and Atsumu stands up, brushing his hands on his gym shorts. “Can I toss ya a few more, Shouyou-kun?”

Hinata Shouyou is 22 years old, and he gets it. 

* * *

xix.

Ushijima Wakatoshi is 24 years old, and he’s come to a decision. 

Hinata Shouyou stands on the court. The ball finds its way to Miya Atsumu, and before he can blink, Hinata is airborne, and the ball has hit the court on the Adlers’ side. Hinata Shouyou, despite playing volleyball for the past eight years, still stares at his reddened palms after every spike; still stares wide-eyed at his setter every time the ball chooses him. 

Miya Atsumu is no better, a toothy grin overtaking his face as he gathers the spiker into his arms and spins him around in celebration, looking at Hinata as if the rest of the court is empty. They both laugh, and Atsumu releases his spiker as they prepare to serve. 

Hinata leaps into the air again, higher and higher and higher, and Ushijima nearly smiles because what he’s decided is this: Hinata Shouyou is both Icarus and the Sun, and that’s why he’s able to get away with this type of thing. Because the Sun has the strongest gravitational pull out of all the celestial bodies in the solar system, the Sun keeps everything else in orbit around it. Based on the way that Bokuto Koutarou yelps with joy every time Hinata so much as breathes, and how Sakusa Kiyoomi nearly smiles back at Hinata when he gives him an enthusiastic thumbs-up, and how Miya Atsumu seems to have fallen in love with the boy he swore he’d set for someday: Hinata Shouyou is the center of this team’s orbit. 

But he’s also Icarus because we know the story, and who flies closer to the Sun than the boy who leaped over Ushijima’s head all those years ago, who proclaimed that he comes from the concrete and believes that he can be victorious— who else in this world could possibly be Icarus?

The ball finds its way to Miya once more, and Hinata plants his foot before exploding upwards. _Isaac Newton would despise you_ , Ushijima thinks, and he lets himself grin at the thought. 

* * *

xx.

Hinata Shouyou doesn’t know how to doubt himself. He believes he can fly, and so he does. Atsumu sends this toss a little higher, a little faster, and Shouyou meets Kageyama’s eyes across the net and sends the ball into the floor next to him. Kageyama almost looks proud.

Hinata Shouyou is 14 years old and swears to Kageyama, tearfully, that he would defeat him someday, and it sounds like a promise because it is one. 

Hinata Shouyou is 22 years old when defeats Kageyama Tobio, because of course he does.

**Author's Note:**

> okay!! this was fun. i really didn;t want to write an essay for my legal philosophy course so I said u know what?? hinata character study. 
> 
> kudos and comments are great, they make me feel validated. i also wrote this kinda late at night and DEFINITELY didn't have a beta reader so if u see any mistakes pls inform me :) might write a companion piece or two for this if school starts really kicking my ass so let me know if that's. something.


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